When Karl Berry walked into an Orthodox Church for the first time in 1983, he was immediately struck by the icons of Black saints. He was living in Atlanta at the time and was visiting a friend’s church in Virginia. He would never forget that day when he first met St. Moses the Black and St. Cyprian of Carthage, both dark-skinned people.
His first thought was that this was just a congregation of very liberal white people trying to be inclusive and appeal to African-Americans. His friend informed him that they were actually replicas of third-century icons, linking us back to a Christianity that had its roots in those who lived hundreds and hundreds of years ago.
We celebrate All Saints Sunday today. When Episcopalians use the word saint, we are not just talking about the famous and not-so-famous who have earned a day of remembrance on the church calendar. Scripture uses the word saint to refer to all the faithful, even all of us here today.
When we talk about the “Communion of Saints,” we are recognizing that our family tree is not limited to or defined by our biological associations. We are all joined in one big holy family tree as God’s children, as sisters and brothers of Jesus.
It is interesting that our readings today are the typical lessons selected for our funeral liturgies and may seem familiar for that reason. Since we are on a three-year cycle in our Episcopal lectionary, these readings occur every three years.
What is significant is that we have chosen to continue our observance of our 100th anniversary by making the focus of this All Saints Day the remembrance of our departed including the founders of St. Andrew’s parish. In the words of that wonderful All Saints hymn, “We feebly struggle, they in glory shine.”
The Gospel we hear today confronts us with the mystery of life and death and while it speaks to the promise of the life to come—resurrection, eternity, the afterlife—it says much more about life on this side of the grave and how we are called to live it more fully and generously.
We don’t know exactly what happened after Jesus raised Lazarus, but I bet there was a big party that night with lots of food and wine and dancing. Legend has it that Lazarus was thirty when Jesus restored him to life and lived another 30 years. What if we were given an extra thirty years to live?
No matter how young or old we are, what if, when the end came, God intervened and said, “Not ready for you, yet. Here’s thirty more years for you.” What would we do differently—not in the sense of looking back with regret but rather looking ahead with great anticipation?
The most difficult thing we are asked to believe may not be that Jesus raised Lazarus or that God raised Jesus or that there is life after death, but rather that God loves us so much with all our warts and failings that God wants to resurrect our lives now, adjust them from an old way of life to a new way of life.
The icons of those Black saints Karl Berry saw in that Virginia church reminded him of his childhood, when his grandmother told him that there were so many races of people because they were all flowers in God’s garden. Looking at those icons, Berry said, “I felt they were telling me, ‘We are the flowers in God’s garden that you are looking for.’ “
All Saints should not be for just one day. It’s a reminder, just in case we’ve forgotten, that all of us are saints of God, joined together with and held by those saints who have gone before us. We are right here and now in the company of the saints.
We’re also quite the seasoned sinners who hold hope in their hearts, who can be amazed by giving more than they ever thought they could, and who are willing to dream of being wrapped up in the goodness and love of God.
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